


Koschei and the Tramp

by OrphielBurrito



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Disney Movies, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-14 15:32:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3415979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrphielBurrito/pseuds/OrphielBurrito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Koschei Oakdown is a wealthy young man who is cursed with a dreadful stepmother - Theta Lungbarrow is a tramp, roaming the streets and enjoying the days as they come. When Koschei is thrown out of his house, the Tramp is the only one who can help him... which he doesn't like much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1 - The Lady

**Author's Note:**

> So one day I was watching Lady and the Tramp (because I'm five years old) and the idea of a crossover came to me. And in my unending silliness, I wrote it. Enjoy. XD

Christmas was by far his least favourite time of the year. The presents, the tree, the constant impression that one had to be happy because it was a very particular time, all this made him want to throw up. The general prettiness of this all felt so fake, so utterly hypocrite... Unfortunately, his father did not share this point of view, especially not these days. Since he had married that woman, a tall, slender thing with razor-sharp nails and too much make-up on, he spent all of December cooing and simpering about stars and candles and all the ravishing things that made Christmas. He had also started to drink, which could be related to this unending comedy. There was actually one good point to Christmas : his father's drinking was more happy than violent.  
Nonetheless, he had that unfathomable feeling that this very particular Christmas would be much more of a torture for him than all the previous ones. There were clues, but he was not too sure yet what they meant. His father, who was already not very talkative, had completely stopped addressing him ; his stepmother spent everyday humming with a demonic smile on her face, her hand laying on her stomach, and he was strongly encouraged to spend everyday locked in his room. He hated that. Of course, that gave him plenty of time to study ; however, he could not say he was particularly enthralled by the idea of being stuck at home. His neighbours were worried about him, he knew that, he saw them passing before his house once or twice a day for a few days before they gave up. Usually, he spent his afternoons with them, taking tea and discussing philosophy and politics, which was slightly boring but not as much as staying here, locked between four walls, with no distraction except his books.   
At least, his father did not hit him as much as usual. He turned that thought over and over again in his head, until it became so full of rage and despair that it lost all its comfort.   
When did it all go to waste ? Surely it had started even before his stepmother entered the game. She was a disgustingly superficial creature but not clever enough to be mean, or so he thought. When he was a child, his father was never the loving type but at least, they seemed to get along as well as possible. Sometimes, he would go to bed and ask his father for a story, without fearing a punch or the belt. Though he was much too old to listen to stories, it felt dreadful to think that daring to ask such a thing would now result in a proper beating.   
He could not remember exactly when his father started drowning in alcohol or when he took his belt for the first time. Somehow, he did not want to remember. At least, the holidays would soon be over and he would be able to go back to school, which would give him whole weeks of peace. He did not have many friends but none of them would dare to lay a hand on him : he was not asking for more.  
Sighing, Koschei Oakdown opened his book for the hundredth time and buried himself in his studies.


	2. Chapter 2

He loved snow, more than he loved rain. Rolling oneself in snow was a pleasure that all of these rich guys living in mansions could never know and he felt richer than the richest of them when he did. The sun on his face, the wet, cold snow on his threadbare clothes, the flakes clinging to his golden hair, the general taste of winter in his mouth... What more could he ask from life ?  
Besides, it was Christmas – and boy, did he love Christmas. Those rich people ate more than they could and threw an enormous amount of food in the streets, where he just had to pick it up to offer himself a feast. Everyone was in a more generous mood and it was not unusual that a well-dressed lady, pitying his dirty looks, gave him some money or even a whole cake. And the sights were amazing : decorated trees, lights everywhere, stars and sometimes even fake snow, when there was no real one. Ah, he loved Christmas. And winter. And approximately everything.  
He had taken an habit to go and walk in the swell neighbourhoods. Not only were the sights incredibly handsome, the houses were also inhabited by people who had so much that they had no idea what to do with all their wealth. The hunt for food was always excellent, especially around Christmas. Funnily enough, during the rest of the year, people were less keen on giving what they had, perhaps because the time of forgiveness and generosity was over. Oh, well. He was not starving and he was generally not too cold, he had nothing to complain about.   
He ran a hand through his messy hair and smiled to his reflection in the shop's window. Blue-green eyes, a roguish smile, a tall, athletic figure – no wonder nobody could resist him. The old butcher gave him some ham leftovers, a nice lady handed him a loaf of bread, and well, that was the first feast of the season.  
That was a day to roam around these fine neighbourhoods, he could feel it. Today was his lucky day. Well, in his opinion, there was no such thing as an unlucky day, but today was especially gorgeous. He would just have to avoid those two old harpies, Azmael and Borusa, who spent their eternity playing cards, discussing boring philosophy and swallowing gallons of insipid tea. Once or twice, he had seen a young man his age with them and was still wondering how on sanity's name one could satisfy oneself with such dull activities. This young man was probably born and raised in this atmosphere and knew little to nothing else, or so the tramp thought. Pity, really – this boy was handsome, in a bookworm kind of way.  
Ah, Christmas, thought the tramp with a faint smile. What a beautiful time.   
Smiling, Theta Lungbarrow started walking along the streets, hands in his pockets and all the luck in the world surrounding him.


	3. Chapter 3 - The Tramp

His insurmountable feeling of dread finally made sense a few months later, when he came back from school for spring holidays. His stepmother's stomach showed obvious signs of pregnancy and were that clue not enough, his father's constant swooning over her belly would have been more than enough to know. She was expecting, no doubt, and he knew that this fact would have terrible consequences. How terrible exactly, he would only find out after she gave birth.  
Summer went as boringly as Christmas, though his father granted him permission to go to his neighbours' once or twice a week. Borusa lectured him about his brooding and his endless ranting at his stepmother's pregnancy, as if he needed more anxiety in his life. Sometimes, he regreted that his only two friends were much older (and supposedly wiser) than him. Sometimes, he wished he could scream and destroy everything around him to let all this anger go – but everytime, he smiled at Borusa, nodded politely and poured him another cup of tea.  
Not that Borusa was utterly wrong ; it was silly indeed to be so terrified by the idea of another child in his father's estate. What cruel deeds could a child possibly do ? There was no rational reason that could justify his worrying. None, except maybe for the fact that his stepmother would do everything she could to make this child his father's heir. That was bad news. Besides, he was fairly convinced that his father would easily comply to his new wife's demands, which would lead him to be homeless when his father would die. Perfect.   
Homelessness was really something he hated. Poor people were somehow disgusting, triggering even, and the idea of not being able to bathe everyday made him shiver. He hated dirtiness. He really could not handle the idea.  
\- Drowning in rich boy's problems, Princess ? Chuckled a voice near his ear as he walked back home in the faint light of dusk.   
He sighed and turned to face that damn boy – this tramp who spent his days wandering around with no purpose, showing off his sort of pretty face and his threadbare clothes to whoever would want to watch and maybe feel some pity for his miserable condition. Koschei was not prone to such empathy. If this boy wanted to have something to eat everyday, well, he just had to work for it. Work was not so complicated. After a few years of studying at Oxford, he knew where he was going, provided that his father would wait for a while before changing his will and dying. He would become a teacher, or a lawyer, any of those professions that were quite honourable, though maybe not extremely satisfying.  
Seeing this boy in torn trousers and worn shoes doing nothing productive all day was a torture. He wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he decided to do something with his life – and hearing his criticism was probably the last thing he needed.   
\- What do you want ? Asked he in the rudest tone he could conjure.  
\- To cheer you up, maybe. What's wrong ? Did you break a nail, or did your dad scream at you because your grades were not that good ?  
He had no idea how right he was. No idea. And apparently, he thought that being screamed at was nothing.   
\- My life is none of your concern, tramp.  
The only reply he got was a laughter, a crystal clear laughter that went burning down his throat like acid. Was everything a joke to that boy ?   
\- Well, you should be even more flattered that I care about it, if it's none of my concern.  
\- Go to hell, mumbled Koschei before slamming the gate of his father's estate on the other's face.


	4. The Tramp

Autumn was the best season in the world. Well, winter was perfect too, and summer, and spring, but autumn – autumn had that peculiar scent, these amazing colours, everything was perfect. Twilight brought a warm and calming light on everything. Now, where would he eat that night ? He had his habits all around town in a few restaurants whose chefs were more than willing to share their leftovers. Too many different choices... Ah, the luxury of choice, the luxury of freedom. It seemed almost too much for only one man.  
A growl made him crawl out of his thoughts. Fights were rather common in this part of town, especially when dark came around, and he was usually not too keen on taking part in them – but this time, it was not an usual gang rivalry bursting. From what he could see, it was one guy being beaten to death by four others, and that was something he could not let happen. What was the point of this anyway ? He could bet that the victim of this bullying was in the streets too and as poor as the others, so why on sanity's name ?  
He jumped in the fight with a sigh, pretty sure he would get quite a few bruises out of that silly act of bravery, maybe even a broken nose. Luckily enough, he was used to throw punches to defend himself and four opponents were not too much for him. It took only a few minutes to make them run away, screaming insults at him, yes, but running anyway.  
A brief check-up reassured him on the state of his nose, still perfect in every aspect – he would get away with only a few cuts and bruises. Some were bleeding rather badly but it was not the first time and it would never be the last one.  
\- Are you alright, mate ? He cheered at the stranger whose life he just saved, expecting a bunch of thanks and maybe even a generous donation, if he happened to have been mistaken and to have rescued someone wealthy.  
To his great surprise, the voice that replied to him was familiar – and not quite as grateful as he would have hoped.   
\- You again ?! Are you everywhere, on the streets, all the time ? Is it your job or something ? Are you... like...  
\- I'm going to stop you right there before you say something incredibly offensive, Princess. I just saved your arse, you could at least say thank you.  
How likely was it to find that guy from the rich neighbourhoods in an obscure alley, alone, at night ? From what he gathered, the « princess » was never leaving his house if it wasn't to have tea with his neighbours or go back to college. Besides, he looked worn and tired, his clothes were torn, and he had blood on his face – which was easy to explain by the fight he had just been in. Still, it was quite a strange sight.  
\- What are you doing here, princess ? Whispered Theta in a softer tone, offering his hand to help him up.  
\- I got lost, mumbled the other, getting up on his own.  
\- Lost ? Your house is two blocks from here, I can get you home in a few minutes...  
\- It will not be useful, I will find my way.  
Yes, as if. Princess was a liar and it was dreadfully easy to find out. How could he ever get lost ? He only ever travelled from his house to the nearest one, never further away. There was no reason for him to be around this neighbourhood.  
He was walking away already, hands in pockets, his shoulders arched as to protect him from further harm. The tramp sighed and ran after him, slowing when he reached him.   
\- Hey, princess. If you're on the streets for whatever reason, it's a bad idea for you to stay alone. These guys were only four but you'll meet stronger ones and they'll rip you apart.  
\- Like I care.   
Theta stopped and grabbed his wrist to make him stop too. He had an enormous bruise on his face, one that was obviously more ancient than the ones the bullies gave him – and his teeth were clenched, his eyes swollen, his cheeks cut, quite a sorry picture.   
\- Do they beat you on a daily basis in that mansion of yours ?   
\- None of your business.  
\- … Alright. Changing the question : when was the last time you ate ?  
The other stood silent, staring at him with a surprised look on his face. Well, apparently this one wasn't very used to kindness, of any sort. Theta guessed from his silence that he was hungry indeed, maybe just too proud to admit it. He took the other's arm and dragged him along, not caring the slightest about his protests. He was ranting about this being an abduction, about Theta's stench and about a lot of things that lost their meaning after the first three minutes of endless speaking.   
Tony's terrace was still full but he knew it was the last service. Grabbing the other's hand, he slipped in the back alley to reach the kitchen's door, where Joe the chef was smoking a cigarette in between orders. As usual, Joe grinned and caught him in his arms, patting his back warmly.   
\- You dear Tramp, it is a pleasure to see you, he laughed with a strong italian accent. How have you been, eh ? It's been a while, it has, yes ! And you brought a friend ?  
\- Yup, I have. This is my friend, uh...  
What even was Princess's real name ? He never bothered to ask. Not that he would have gotten an answer.  
\- Koschei Oakdown, replied the other reluctantly. Just... Koschei.  
\- Koschei ! Well, let's give you two something to eat, heh ? You both look quite hungry, laughed Joe before entering his kitchen.   
\- … Is hungry even a look ? Asked Koschei, completely perplexed.


End file.
